Butler's Wager

CHAPTER 7

Tyrone Butler walked along Front Street, wishing he’d been in Dodge eight or ten years ago. He had gotten himself a room at the Dodge House, and was happy to see the Delmonico Restaurant was still open. He decided to go first to the Alhambra for a beer and a look, and then he’d return to the Delmonico for a steak.

While Dodge was no longer the cow town it once was, it was obvious as soon as he walked through the Alhambra doors that the town still attracted the gamblers. The faro, roulette, and craps tables were in full swing, and off in one corner he could see two poker games going.

He went to the mile-long bar and waited for the bartender to make his way from the other end.

“What’ll it be?” the man asked.

“Cold beer.”

“Comin’ up.”

The bartender drew a mug of cold beer and carried it over to Butler.

“Gambler?” he asked.

“Does it show?” Butler asked.

“All over you. What’s your game?”

“Poker.” Butler sipped the beer, found it ice cold.

“You’ll find what you want here.”

“I’m going to get a steak first.”

“The Delmonico,” the bartender said. “Can’t beat it.”

“That’s where I was going to go,” Butler said, “soon as I finish this beer.”

“Well, don’t rush it,” the barman said. “It’s good beer.”

Butler sipped his beer and watched some men at the far end of the bar, who seemed to be celebrating.

“What’s going on?” he asked the bartender.

“You got here two days after election day,” the man said. “We got us a new mayor, and he’s cleanin’ house. Fired the city marshal, Jim Masterson, his deputy, as well as the sheriff and undersheriff.”

“Jim Masterson?”

“Yep,” the bartender said, “Bat’s younger brother. Been marshal here for a few years, but today he’s out. Some folks are kinda excited about that.”

“What about you?”

“Not me,” the man said. “I like Jim. I think he was a great marshal for this town.”

“Do you think they’ll replace him with his brother Bat?” Butler asked.

“Not a chance,” the bartender said. “Bat ain’t in Dodge, but even if he was mayor, Webster would never hire another Masterson.”

“What’s Jim going to do?”

“Ah, he owns part of the Lady Gay, so I guess he’ll concentrate on that. And the old mayor, Dog Kelley? He half owns this place.”

“Interesting,” Butler said. He looked around. “I don’t suppose Masterson is in here now, is he?”

“Naw,” the barman said. “My guess is they’re over at the Lady Gay. They’ll be over here soon enough, though.”

“I’ll be back later,” Butler said. “Maybe I’ll spot them.”

“Whatever you wanna do,” the bartender said. “Interested in a girl for the evening? Maybe the night?”

Butler looked around, saw three or four saloon girls circulating through the room, all of them beautiful.

“I’ll let you know.”

“You do that. The name’s Hogan, Matt Hogan. Jest ask for me I’ll get ya whatever ya want.”

“I’ll remember.” Butler finished his beer, set the empty mug down. “See you later, Matt.”

“Usually,” Hogan said, “when a man introduces himself, the other fella does the same. Common courtesy, ya know?”

“Sorry,” Butler said, “I think I left my manners on the trail between here and Wichita. The name’s Butler, Ty Butler.”

“Came here from Wichita?” Hogan asked, as they shook hands. “Not much goin’ on there, huh?”

“Not much,” Butler said. “That’s why I came to Dodge.”

“Well, you’ll find everything you want here, my friend Butler.”

“I can see that, Matt. Thanks.”

Butler left the Alhambra, intending to go to the Delmonico for that steak. On the way he passed the Lady Gay and he noticed two men peering in one of the front windows. There was nothing really unusual about them. They wore trail clothes and guns in worn holsters. But before they entered the saloon they each removed their guns and checked them, to see that they were loaded. In Butler’s experience the only time you did that was when you intended to use the gun.

The two men entered through the batwing doors, and Butler’s curiosity got the better of him. He followed them in.